


Zevran

by Kauri



Series: NSFW Mini-Headcanons [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff and Smut, NSFW, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 10:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15604569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauri/pseuds/Kauri
Summary: Zevran teaches you of pleasure.





	Zevran

Zevran teaches you of pleasure. Not sexual pleasure –– or, not  _only_  sexual pleasure, but  _pleasure._

He is a master in the art of drawing joy from the world, in the darkest of times, in the smallest of ways. A ripe plum. A round arse. A swift kill. A sharp smile. Life has never been so beautiful, when viewed through Zevran’s eyes.

The joy he helps you find, helps you  _hold on to,_  makes you want more. Makes you greedy for his caresses, and his kisses, and for the shattered breaths he takes when he’s buried deep inside you. Zevran gives freely of himself –– of his laughter, of his body, and you want both in equal measure.

You want the endless summer smell of his skin, and the playfulness of his fingers, and the filthy things he whispers in a tongue you don’t understand. You want his strong thighs locked around your waist, and the salt-slick taste of his cock, and the way he gives, and gives, and gives, and holds nothing of himself back. The way that once tumbles into twice, tumbles into all night, and your legs cramp, and your heart nearly gives out, but Zevran holds you anchored in his arms, until you can breath again. His hips move as steadily as a current, thrusting with smooth, sleek surety, until they suddenly falter, and he arches tightly against you, and comes with a breathless, wavering cry.

And then, little by little, day by day, something  _shifts._  You catch glimpses of it in tiny moments; the way his eyes linger on your wet skin whenever it rains. The way the easy line of his mouth tightens when you touch him unexpectedly, as though he is bracing himself to move away. The way he cannot stop his thumbs from skimming over the pulse-point on your wrists after every battle. The way, one night, he refuses your bed.

Pleasure he offers, in abundance. Love, he denies. Vehemently. Utterly. A Crow is taught that love, is an illusion. A lie. A  _weakness_  that can can only lead to death, and ruin, and despair.

So you teach Zevran of love. Not  _how_  to love, he knows that well –– though he denies the very concept, even as he breathes  _mi amor_  against the sweaty creases of your skin –– but how to  _be_ loved. For no one has ever loved Zevran, or cared for him beyond his ability to fill a contract –– or a bed. He has always been  _disposable._  So he doesn’t know how to  _matter_  to someone, beyond life, beyond breath. Doesn’t know how to stand at the center of someone’s world. Doesn’t know how to live as one half, of a whole.

But he is as greedy for love, as you were for joy.

And you, are a patient teacher.


End file.
